Whispers to the Dark
by xXxJuliettexXx
Summary: Questioning a serial killer wasn't meant to be easy, but Beyond Birthday would make these interviews -these trifilling, dizzy hours- a steep fall into the Underland. "You lose your head, you lose your heart, Miss." /BB x OC/
1. Chapter 1

**o1. the Preparations**

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><p>She could feel the unease around her like a blanket. It wrapped around the length of her body and constantly brushed at her skin. But it wasn't warm like a blanket, it was cold. Creeping over her skin and pull her skin into a rapid spread of goose bumps.<p>

"You don't have to do this." Her brother reassured her. His teeth grinding down at the end of his cigarette. "We could-"

"Oh, she does." A mechanical voice answered, having obviously been listening to the conversation. "Bri knows she has to do this, she herself requested it."

Matt stared at her for a moment, flabbergasted, and she nodded.

"Thank you, L. I'll ask my questions and go."

"Very well, but don't try anything funny Ms. Brook. I have cameras."

"And you wired me."

"Yes, and that." With the draw of sarcastic weariness, she imagined his real voice. It was long held and tired during trivial things as well, hinting at an English accent, but occasionally smoothing out whenever his country of origin showed. You really had to get him to talk, without the laptop morphing his voice, to be able to hear it and pin it down. He had such an interesting voice.

"I'll be fine." She smiled at her brother and patted his cheek.

Her skin was pale, much like his. Their Irish-Italian heritage merged the best features of their parent's. Their striking red hair, their clear blue eyes, their fair skin, their natural strength and slender body frame. One in the same, twins.

Matt snorted and offered, once again, to come with her, but she declined.

She could do this. She could be strong, and composed, and talk to the 'nice' suicidal serial killer.

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><p><strong>I couldn't help it. Bri shows a fasination for Beyond Birthday and I was watching <em>The Silence of the Lambs <em>and got an idea! The reason her surname is different will be revealed later.**

**Love, love, love.**

**It gets lethal. **


	2. Chapter 2

**o2. the Excitement**

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><p>That feeling of confidence hadn't wavered until now. Not after she passed the umpteenth metal open-with-ID-card-only door, not after the twenty-something ever-changing guards, not after the many, many, many egg-shell colored walls. But as she passed the rows and rows of patients, as one of the doctors -Harry, maybe?- introduced them all to her, say their name, reason for being here and (sometimes) how long they've been here. She felt as though she had to enroll herself into the institution as well.<p>

Or perhaps file a complaint of some sort. . .

So one man had a fascination with fire and the other loved the taste of pillow stuffing.

That wasn't so bad, now was it?

Did that make them crazy? Apparently so.

The doctor led her down deeper, his face grim and dark. "This is where we've been keeping him."

His words hovered in the air like a last chance for her to go back. She could be patted on the back, smiled too, and he (the _nice, _cute young doctor) would understand and walk back with her. Talking her ear off and, possibly, asking if she was free this Friday.

No.

"Well then, let's not keep him waiting." Her voice was smooth and icy.

The young doctor felt her chill and quickly moved to open the meat-locker door, opening to another corridor. This one more desolate than the last. The silence of the white hall was ever more so. Bri hated silence like that, almost as much as she hated spineless/jackass-ish/mean/hot-jerk-like people.

This said doctor being one of them.

She decided to start shooting questions while she had him all hot and bothered over the matter of walking with her.

"I was told he was brought here with serious third degree burns?"

"Oh, uh, yes. We've done wonderfully to restore his face. I believe it was your employer who paid for his cosmetic surgeries. I supervised them all, and I have to say it was amazing, even to me." He smiled, blushing slightly, but she brushed off his obvious interest and continued with her questions.

"His behavior?"

"He's a rather observant fellow, wicked smart as well. He could tell you anything about anything."

"His behavior, sir." she repeated.

"Oh, well, a few nurses have. . .turned in their letter of resignation after working with him. They say he kept talking about dark things. It frightened the poor girls." He paused for a moment, then laughed and touched her shoulder, stopping. "Do you want me to stay with you? To keep you from being frightened, of course."

Her eyes narrowed and she swatted at his hand.

"If you dislike being frightened, I suggest you refrain from touching me, Dr. Knox."

He looked so put out just now. . .

"My apologizes, Ms. Brook." He led her to a small office and left her in the care of an elderly security guard.

His smile was genuine. "He's right through their Miss. Don't get too close and don't worry," He nodded towards the cameras. "I'll be watching."

She wondered if she was the only one who noticed the sticky notes were in the shape of an 'L'.

"Thank you." She turned towards the door and released a breath like she'd been holding it for a long time.

She was really going to do it. She was really going to see him.

For a few milliseconds, as her hand reached for the knob, she contemplated going back, but fought back all desire to do so.

_For Mello. For L. For myself_. She repeated in her mind and opened the door to a surprisingly neat room. It was painted blue and had white wood floors that showed her reflection. Two couches were in the room, placed diagonally from each other, a coffee table with a flower arrangement, stood between them. On the far side of the wall, past the furniture and art, was a glass window, dividing the door like a wall. Creating a parallel universe to the room.

The walls on that were painted a smoky gray like a cave wall, some brush strokes darker than the others, creating the inconstant shapes of clouds.

Storm clouds.

She loved the rain.

The rest of the room was decorated with some art and a soft bed that was fitted with white sheets and comforter. There were some books, all meticulously shelved in perfect alignment from size and down to series. There was a TV too; it hung on the wall along with two security cameras that resembled the ones at the other four corners of the room -no blind spots, just a simple sweep of the room.

A man was standing in the middle of this room. Staring at her with a bored expression, like he had been waiting for her and now he would scold.

He looked just like L. . .

But his eyes were covered with a blindfold that blocked his view of her.

Strange, she thought. Unknowing of what she got herself into.

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><p><strong>yes, that's it for now. I will write more because I love this story with a passion and it's idea is so different for anything I've ever done.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**o3. the Meeting**

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><p>She wondered how to greet him. Just say hello? Say his name? Could he hear her through this glass?<p>

"Beyond Birthday. . ." she said the name as if she couldn't believe it, and she couldn't. She was finally meeting the man she emulated since she was teenager –fascinated by his story. Mello had told her of Beyond Birthday -the World's Greatest Criminal- and she'd read the case files a thousand times over, taking pride in the fact that she was the second B. She knew which room he slept in when he himself lived at the Whammy's House as well.

He had been one of her many great obsessions.

"Hi, I'm Olivia Brook; I came here to ask you a few questions. I'm with the FBI."

She considered flashing her fake ID, but deemed it useless.

His head tilted upward, his pointed chin lifting to her.

"That's an accent isn't it?" His voice was lax, much like L's. It was a voice that dissected all little details of words and dragged them out into the light to further examine the meaning of them, but the English accent held fast to his tone. A true British man with his natural tone of voice. "Yes," He drew of the 's' a little longer than necessary. "I can hear it. Irish?"

She was baffled for a moment.

He was observant, much like L. She almost smiled.

"Yes. . .I'm Irish-Italian." She took a few steps closer to the glass. The heels of her boots tapping softly onto the pristine white floors.

"Strange merge of nationalities. Do you speak Italian?"

"_Si._" He smiled, almost, amused. He didn't believe her, she could tell. Just say 'yes' in Italian wasn't enough; it was a world renowned word. Any smart-ass could say that and pass themselves off as smarter than they really are. "_Posso parlare italiano molto bene. Puoi rispondere ad alcune domande per me?_"

He nodded, bottom lip pouting out ever so slightly. Not impressed, but as if he'd deemed it acceptable. "Very well. . .but that Irish accent of yours," he shook his head. "Hide it, try as you might, but it's still there. It ruins the illusion of the Latina beauty." He paused again. "You probably have auburn hair, correct? Auburn hair and wide doe brown eyes?"

She stared at him. "No, I don't."

"To which? I can't see you, I'd like to have a mental picture of you; a petty memento of my first visitor in five years." He made a gesture to the cloth covering his eyes as if she hadn't noticed it before hand.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Contemplating the pros and cons. It was just her eye color. "My eyes are blue, sir."

"Blue? No further observation? Blue," He said the word disgusted. "Such a wide range."

"A light shade of blue. Now could you answer my questions please?"

"Oh, yes, go right ahead."

"Why are your eyes covered?"

She wasn't supposed to ask that, but her curiosity peeked. L would be angry later, she had to ask to interview Beyond Birthday to hear his thoughts on the Kira case. Mello and Near had been close to the answers, but. . .Things had gotten in the way.

She shook off those evil thoughts.

"My eyes see many things, it frightens a few people how I can see right through them. Of course, people like to keep their facades up, draw an air of someone regal around themselves." He made a noise like a laugh. "Everyone in this world is a liar in their own right."

She had heard that expression many times before. "Okay, I get it."

"I don't care for your tone, Ms. Brook." He frowned. Uneasy, she shifted her weight and his ears perked. "Just now. . .you're wearing heels, correct?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Yes. . ."

"Heeled boots, and their new. Do you want to know what that tells me?" He didn't wait, but kept talking. His rapid wit making a story. "That tells me that you usually wear flat bottom shoes, you grew up in such a place where a girl couldn't have your fancy luxuries. Everything was modest and clean, but aside from that you were a tomboy who roughed around with the other boys around you and was accepted into their little circle (that leads me to think you may also have a brother), but you secretly always wanted to wear a dress and heels. Skip ahead a few years; when you were given me as an assignment you were thrilled to go shopping to buy a pair of heels so you may look the part of an FBI agent. Then you were dismayed to find that heels were a little tougher to walk in than you had bargained for, so you bought a pair of leather boots. . .Do you ride motorcycles?"

She didn't know how to respond to that.

"I have several other suspicions of you. Prepare yourself, and don't gape at me like a fish."

She should have been use to this by now. L had always talked like that, but he had never turned his wit on her. She smoothed her voice over into a soft pitch. "Hn, that's amazing. Guessing my life story. You're smart; perhaps you can answer my questions now?"

His lips tugged at a smile, he was still ignoring her. "How very professional. . .Not letting your emotions better you. You work mainly in the field don't you?"

She wouldn't answer him this time.

"Yes, you do. That means. . .you must be one of L's successors. One of those who can handle guns and works suicide missions for their master." He laughed at her, hysterically. But his laugh was warped, like he couldn't decide how to laugh. "KYAYAYAYAYA! Heeheheheheheheh! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

It echoed in her ears like nails on a chalk board and followed her out the door.

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><p><strong>All in due time. All in due time. <strong>

**Beyond wanted to have a little fun with her first.**

**If you read the book about the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases, there's a two page conversation BB has with himself about how he should laugh XD**


	4. Chapter 4

**o4. the Funeral**

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><p>Funerals were mournful and sad no matter how you looked at them. Everyone wore the shallow color of black and laid down flowers and mourned the loss of the person they lost. Brielle Jeevas thought the same thing, even though the funeral didn't have many people and she was the only one expected to cry. But she didn't. SHe would hold strong, say what she wanted and go back to work the next day like nothing at all had happened.<p>

Then their was the insident at the assylum.

No one really blamed her for what happened.

L had hear everything and was scornful, but hadn't blamed her. Actually, considering her cercumstances he was quite surprised that she had left in the first place. Bri had offered to try again, but Matt didn't let her. He wanted her to take the time to heal after everything that had happened this past year.

She was restless though. Everything the mass murderer said to her was spot on and it felt as though he was trying to nest himself into her head.

Woe if Mello could see her now. She laughed at the though of her long lost childhood love.

She hadn't though about him in a while . . .

Never mind that now. There was work to be done.

She wasn't finished with Beyond Birthday yet.

The intrigue of the secrts. The hollow spoken words. The eyes hidden by the mask.

She was going back.

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><p><strong>Brielle is a hellbent person. When she wants something, she'll get it.<strong>

**Secrets and I'm sorry I haven't updated this in the longest time. **


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